


The Break Up

by SlothSpaghetti



Series: Sleepless In Stark Towers [5]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Cyberbullying, Eating Disorders, Emotional, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Pining, Poor choices, Self-Destructive Behavior, Stream of Consciousness, Tony to the rescue, Toxic Relationship, Verging on, WHAT IS SLEEP, bad breakup, because of no sleep, parks and recreations mentioned, relationship, self hate, shitty boyfriend, unhealthy eating habits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:26:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27024253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlothSpaghetti/pseuds/SlothSpaghetti
Summary: It finally happens.
Relationships: Tony Stark/OFC, Tony Stark/Reader
Series: Sleepless In Stark Towers [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1965925
Comments: 8
Kudos: 117





	1. Tony's PoV

Pepper suggested another working dinner at some restaurant she really liked. I was running on fumes as it was, but the main courses hadn’t even been served yet and I was a whiskey deep already. I wasn’t going to complain. My PA/CEO was throwing figures and jargon around like it really mattered to me. I raised my empty glass to a passing waiter, signaling that I wanted another, asap. Pep would do what was best for the company, she lived for this business shit. Enjoying the vicious boardroom environment and off-hand threats passed around by old men who thought they could cow her into some kinda weak position. I just wanted people to be straightforward with me, was that too much to ask for?

As my second whiskey on an empty stomach arrived, Peter started calling me. I downed the amber liquid and excused myself. 

“What’s up, kid?" I leaned against the bar, earpiece always in and phone in my hand, flicking through Instagram. Steve posted another self-defense video on his IGTV.

"Hey Mr. Stark, sorry if I'm interrupting you. You know how you said I should take snack breaks during my patrols so I'm not hangry when I get home?"

"Yeah…?" I looked back over to the table where our food had arrived. I was getting hangry.

"So I was doing that, eating my pb&j after dropping a mugger off at a police station, and I checked my phone." It sounded like he still had peanut butter spread across the roof of his mouth.

"Is there a point, kid?" 

"Yeah, actually, I need to ask you a favor."

"Did you get arrested again?" I asked, not trying to hide the smile from my voice.

"One time, Mr. Stark, that was one time!" Peter exclaimed, he was probably waving his arms about, all riled up. "I need you to do a search on my cousin's phone."

"Why? Is she okay?" My mind started going a mile a minute thinking about what could have possibly happened to you in just a week. I started pulling up the GPS tracking. 

"Yes, well no, she's kinda going 2007 Britney right now and posting it on her Instagram stories. I don't know where she is, but I know she's gonna end up getting herself in trouble."

What the fuck could you possibly be doing? Also, why the fuck did I not know about that?

Peter gave me your number, but I had JARVIS already doing a track on your phone the moment he'd made the request. You were about a five minute flight away. Why were you so far from campus this late?

"I'll pick her up Petey, she's close to where I am now."

"Thank you, Mr. Stark, tell her to text me when you get her. Oh, there's a car thief, I gotta go."

I walked back over to Pepper and picked up a grilled parsnip wedge from my plate. 

"I gotta run, hero stuff, make good choices, dinners on me, get dessert," I spoke between shoving bites of root vegetable into my mouth.

"Isn't it always?" Pepper gave me a look over her glass of wine and I ignored it. 

My fingers rose in a mock salute and I snagged a carrot off my plate. I was out the door and my suit expanded from my bracelets in seconds. 

_ What is going on sweetheart? _


	2. Your PoV

A deep lungful of paint fumes filled my chest and clouded my useless, treacherous mind. I peeled the stencil off the grimy brick wall and outlined the message bubble with dark blue spray paint. I stared at the grotesque series of chat messages interspersed with freehand portraits of Nathan's stupid face. 

The rattle of empty cans in my backpack distracted me from the sounds of passing cars, shouting people, and my sobbing. I pulled out the light blue color and shook the can before starting a new chat bubble for the last message. The last message I ever wanted to see from that fucking cunt ever again. The series of hateful messages that started me on this spiral three days ago. 

**_Fuck off and die whore._ **

Someone was trying to talk behind me. They were calling my name, trying to get my attention, but I was too busy ripping the final stencil off the wall and throwing the empty can of spray paint at it. When a hand landed on my shoulder I whirled around,off-balance, blurry-eyed, and fists flying. 

"Woah, watch the face Sweetheart."

Tony. Oh god, it's Tony. Why couldn't it have been the cops? I could handle being arrested, I couldn't handle him seeing me like this. This walking shell of a person who was good for nothing but being fucked in the ass by a boy who didn't love me. A boy who said showing me affection was a chore. A boy who said no one would love me. 

"Sorry," I pulled back, putting distance between me and the superhero. 

"Peter said you were having a Britney level breakdown," he looked down at the pile of torn stencils and long, sloppy line of graffiti.

"I'm just working through some stuff," I shrugged and wiped the stupid fat tears from my eyes.

"I can see that," Tony looked at the final message and his features darkened for a long moment. For the first time, I was scared of him. "When did you last get any sleep?" 

I looked at my phone, ignoring the number of texts and missed calls from Peter and Aunt May. It was half-past 10 on a Tuesday night. I had been awake now for almost 80 hours. 

"I took a nap on Saturday afternoon for a few hours," I mumbled, avoiding eye contact, shame and disgust churned in my gut causing bile to rise in my throat. 

"Jesus, Baby," he scrubbed his hand over his clean-shaven face and looked at me. "Go wait over there for me."

He pointed to the far end of the parking lot where only one security light lit the massive waste of space. I walked over to the lamp post and squatted down under the halogen glow. The stretch burned my tired, overworked muscles, pulled at the bandages that covered the tops of my thighs, and made me feel something other than hollow. I needed to feel something right now. Tony calling me baby didn't even register in my mind. I was so out of it and tired and dead. 

_ God, my celebrity crush is seeing just what a fucking psychotic bitch I am. _

"Okay, let's go," Tony was in the Iron Man suit. I blinked up at him, trying to figure out where he'd been hiding that giant thing. He must have thought I wasn't moving fast enough because he scooped me up. I felt the cold, hard metal finger dig into my skin just shy of being painful. 

There was no warning. One second I was trying to explain that I was too heavy and needed to be put down, the next I was clinging to a red and gold faceplate for dear life as the city began to shrink underneath me. We flew hard and fast around glass buildings, the tears on my face dried up quickly. Under any other circumstance, this probably would have been the funnest, coolest thing of my entire life. I loved things like this, looking down at the ant-sized people, watching the world whoosh by me, and the pure adrenaline rush of it all. 

The landing onto what I could only guess was Tony’s balcony was swift, probably practiced numerous times after successful flights and missions. Did he take a plane anywhere now that he was Iron Man? Maybe anytime he went anywhere he just had the suit take him. He gingerly placed me on my feet then guided me by the shoulders inside. 

“Where does the suit keep going?” I demanded, feeling warm hands on me instead of cold metal. “Does it just fly away when you want it to?”

“No, it just retracts,” Tony sounded annoyed, but that didn’t seem to shut my mouth. 

“That doesn’t make sense? That thing is huge, it's gotta be hiding in this insane balcony.” I turned to look for it only finding a massive pool glowing and waving against the side window. “That’s not even fair.”

“You can take a swim later, right now,” automatic doors whooshed open and soft light illuminated a huge open plan kitchen and living room with walls that clearly drew in just like the design of the tower outside. “You are going to shower off that paint smell, then sleep at least eight hours.”

“Heh, is good joke,” why was I Russian now? “Sleep is for the weak.”

I was shoved into another huge space, this time a bathroom with a separate shower and tub. What the heck was with that? A towel that looked more expensive than my entire wardrobe was thread through a heated rack. I knew it was heated because I touched it. 

“Stop, don’t burn yourself. Stand right here, and I will be back with some kind of pajamas. You know what, text Peter,” Tony threw that last command over his shoulder as he disappeared through the second door in the bathroom. 

“What kinda bathroom has two doors?” I muttered, pulling out my phone, frowning at it. 

“Text him before he has a heart attack.” Tony tapped on my screen. 

“He’s just gonna say ‘I told you so’ and be smug and I can’t deal with that right now,” I pouted, forcing the corners of my face further down. 

“Jay, tell Pete she’s here and safe.”

“Certainly, Sir,” the British computer confirmed. 

“Okay, that’s done. Now there is shampoo, conditioner, body wash, and probably whatever else you may need in the shower or this cabinet,” he opened up a cupboard disguised as a full-length mirror. 

“Ugh, I look gross,” I pushed my nose flat against my face. 

“No, Sweetheart, you are just tired. Get moving, I’ll be in the other room if you need me.”

Tony dashed out of the room, closing the door firmly behind him. I turned on the sleek chrome shower and jumped when icy water started to spray in all directions. I set down the clothes Tony gave me, absentmindedly thinking they’d never fit me and that this was all just some kind of cruel joke. I tried again to adjust the shower, but I couldn’t get it to just be a regular shower. 

“Mr. JARVIS, I can’t figure out the shower,” I wanted to cry, but my eyes were too sore to produce any more tears. This was so stupid, just like me. 

“Here, Miss, allow me,” the computer adjusted the setting somehow, and soon steam filled the bathroom. 

“Thank you,” I murmured, slowly easing my clothes off my body, laying my glasses next to them. 

For as fast as the logical part of me wanted to be done with this, the stupid part of me wanted to savor this moment for all it was worth. 

I.

Was. 

In. 

Tony Stark’s.

Penthouse. 

The creepy fucker inside me really hoped these bottles of soap were the ones he used because he smelled good every damn time I saw him. So much better than all the Axe and Old Spice the people I went to school with wore. Better than the shitty wintergreen scent that Nathan wore. Christ, I hated how he smelled. The way it seeped into everything he touched, how my sheets would reek of it after he’d make his hasty exit from my house.

I poured the shampoo into my palm and scrubbed my scalp, feeling how the soap didn’t lather like it should. I hadn’t showered since… Friday maybe? God, I was a mess. I did a second wash and then used too much conditioner than probably necessary before I washed my body. Band-aids were peeled back easily to reveal more sloppy lines. Why did I keep doing that to myself? When they wouldn’t stick back down, a bolt of panic shot through me.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I muttered, trying to find a surface to put them on until I was done. Was there even a fucking trash can here?

The shower went a lot quicker after that. I scrubbed my hands with a loofah, only for flecks of paint to get stuck to it no matter how long I rinsed it out. 

“Shit, shit, shit.”

I rinsed the conditioner out next, feeling how slick and soft it made my hair feel. If Tony used this on his hair, he would definitely have some luscious locks. I spun lightly to turn off the shower and nearly fell on my ass. 

“Jesus, Mary, Joseph.”

This was definitely God punishing me for being a creep.

I got out of the shower and sighed into the heavenly feeling towel. The soft, warm fabric absorbed the last droplets of water quickly before I wrapped the towel around my hair. Semi blind, I opened the gross mirror cupboard and looked for some new bandaids, but found none. My fingers prodded the soft flesh of my legs, right on top of the scabs. They didn’t move or crack, so as long as I didn’t scratch them, I should be fine. 

I pulled on the clothes Tony had given me, surprised they fit, let alone were somehow loose on my frame. I stared at my reflection in the mirror, removing the towel from my head and putting my glasses on. My hands met in front of my face, fingers pressed to my lips while I prayed for enough strength to get me to Peter’s room to sleep. The dirty clothes I had been wearing were gathered up, careful to tuck my bra and underwear between my shirt and joggers. I took another deep breath and stepped out of the bathroom. 

“Why have you dressed me like Slim Shady?” I stared at the back of Tony’s head, clothes clutched my chest. 

“Look, the only sweatpants and t-shirt I own are from the 2000s. That was just the style then,” he turned around and smirked at the oversized clothes on my body. 

“Style is a strong word to use,” I shuffled further into his living room, rubbing my eyes. “I look like a runaway And One model.”

“You wanna talk about what started your spiral, Britney?”

“No, not really, I’d much rather just watch Parks ‘n’ Rec til I pass out,” I stood in front of the plush sectional.

“I’m not gonna say you need to talk to me about it, but you should probably talk to someone about it,” Tony patted the seat next to him and picked up the remote. 

I don’t know what I was thinking, honestly. I should have gone down to Peter’s room, crawled into that empty bed, put on the TV, and passed right the fuck out. But instead, I dropped my clothes at my feet and sat down next to Tony. He pulled up Netflix and I suggested an episode with a thumbnail I recognized, not really paying attention to which one it was. At some point during the episode, my head landed on his shoulder and his arm fell around me. I was sucked into the warmth of his body next to mine, muddling my tired mind. There was a faint smell of alcohol on his breath, but there was no glass or bottle around where I could see. I must have interrupted his evening. 

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled. 

“Don’t be, Sweetheart,” he squeezed my side lightly, not taking his eyes off Ron Swanson. 

More episodes played, and as April was saying her vows to Andy, I felt the tears start to fall down my face. It was stupid, I shouldn’t be crying. I was happy they were together, they were the perfect pair. It wasn’t like I wanted to get married anyway. Even before Nathan, I was set on a life of freedom and being my own woman. What had broken inside of me to believe I still had that with him? 

“Do you think broken things get a happy ending?” 

The words tumbled out my mouth, out of my control. I refused to look away from the screen.  _ Are you still watching “Parks and Recreation”? _ I couldn’t even tell you how many episodes we’d watched. We didn’t move to click continue or stop the show. It just hovered there, both of us frozen by fumbling, teary-eyed language. 

“Yeah, Baby, we do,” Tony’s hushed tone washed over me, coating my restless brain in honeyed words and hope, slowing down my thoughts if only for a moment. 

Another episode was put on, but I don’t remember what happened. I passed out before the opening theme song finished. 


End file.
